I once held strong convictions,

low opinions of “such and such,”

held Mr. This and Mrs. That in high regard,

with clear lines drawn in the sand.

I often think of something that happened 

twenty-four years ago.

My boyfriend at the time remained friends 

with his ex, a stripper. 

I was jealous of their relationship.

Once, I told him I felt sorry for her, having to strip

for money. 

She must be very unhappy and embarrassed, I said.

He was the first to open my eyes, to shine light, 

to offer me a chance to see.

He simply said “She is actually quite happy. 

She loves and respects herself.”

That was all he needed to say. 

He knew I hated myself and lacked self-respect. 

I was the sad one.

The young stripper was genuinely happy,

while the young corporate worker was hollow inside.

As years pass, I read, write, and breathe. 

I observe.

I practice the art of seeing,

through a lens now cracked and blurred.

I squint, close my eyes, breathe, trying to see again.

A student with no teacher, no fixed rules to follow. 

I may never get there, but already, 

I do not see with the same eyes.

The old stagnant ones saw in black and white

The new ones dance, they see in shades of gray.

I accept, I enjoy the transition, whatever it may be.

Liminality hums beneath my skin.

Without knowing where, like the tide, never the same, 

yet always drawn toward the moon.

My journey, a ride without a destination, 

an endless unfolding of realms.

With every step, more to grasp, 

more to release.

I could never stand still, 

the choice was never mine.

It was engineered into my DNA.

An unrelenting force, 

advancing this dance.

Though the path is uncertain, I follow the light,

at times the shadow.

Just never the same way twice.

On days I cannot walk, I learn to rest, reflect, and smile- 

for what is to come, for what I’ve left behind.